Real Men Wear Kilts
by SasuNaruForever17
Summary: Scotland wants England to make him a kilt and America comes home at the wrong time. Established USUK relationship.


_Real Men wear Kilts_

It was Scotland's idea. England wouldn't have done it for anyone else, only him. The request was…England wanted to call it horrible, but it wasn't _too_ bad. Scotland had said he was the best clothes maker in the whole world. Of course he wasn't, but Scotland would say just about anything to butter him up. England went for it and took the request.

He had to make him a kilt. Not just any kilt. A special, embroidered kilt. It just so happens that Scotland has the same waist size as England. So, he could fit it on himself while Scotland was off planning his party or whatever.

England wanted to help him, but he didn't know how well he was at making kilts. He searched the internet until he found something that was close to instructions and followed them. He went over what colours Scotland wanted, and the embroidery. It would take a few hours at the most. He was glade America had went to visit Canada.

He got started, using some durable fabric for the base. He measured himself, then used that for the kilt. He worked hard at it, trying to make it the best he could. He wanted Scotland to be happy with it. He never went at something half-assed.

England's nimble fingers flew through sewing it up. He did it over a few times to make sure it was strong. Then he started on embroidering, taking small careful steps. He did it slowly, so slowly that he didn't even notice the time fly by. Soon, it was done, and he sewed the two pieces together, making it into one. Now, for the embarrassing part…

Well, maybe it wasn't too embarrassing since America wasn't home. He had to try it on to make sure it fit properly. England stood in front of the full mirror in his and America's bedroom. He slipped off his pants and underwear. Gently, he pulled the kilt up and rested it on his hips. He looked…pretty great, actually. But…

England slipped off his shirt and looked himself over. That was a little better. He didn't have any long socks nor buckle shoes though, or he would have put them on too. England turned, looking at his ass, and damn did it look fine. He wondered what he would look like in an actual skirt…

"England! I'm baaaack!"

_Oh, shit!_

England tried to get the kilt off fast, but then he remembered that he had to be careful with it. He went a little slower, but realized that he hadn't any underwear on, and America had just stepped into the room. England pulled the kilt back up, face a glaring red.

America's mouth dropped open at the sight of England. He was… in a skirt! And it was fucking _hot! _America slowly approached him, huge grin on his face.

"Hey there sexy. Should I leave the house more often if this is what I'm going to come home too?"

America reached for him, but England slapped the hands away.

"This isn't something I would normally do, you pillock."

America wasn't having any of that. He snatched England's arm and pulled him close, back to his chest. He set his chin on top of England's head and looked at them in the mirror.

"It isn't? I thought you loved wearing women's clothing."

England scoffed. He struggled in America's grasp, but he was held tightly.

"Can't you see it's a kilt? Which are worn by _men,_ for your information."

America kept his grin in tact, reaching down to trace the embroidery in front of England's crotch.

"I was just playing. I know what this is. But _why _you have it on is a mystery… Becoming Scottish?"

England bit back a groan at the light teasing. He put a hand over America's.

"I would never become Scottish. This was a request from Scotland himself."

Eyebrows raised, America grabbed England through the kilt.

"Oh really? You and him screwing now?"

England growled, both pissed and enjoying America's playful rough handling. Damn him!

"_No_ you wanker. He asked me to make him a kilt, and we just happen to have the same waist size. I would never live out your fantasy of fucking him."

A chuckle was pressed into England's hair. With his non-busy hand he reached under the kilt and cupped England's balls before rolling them between his fingers. England arched his back, ass pressing to the front of America's jeans.

"We could always have a threesome."

England wanted to laugh at that. Of course America would try that line. The only response that came out of him was a moan though. Then, America's hands were gone. England frowned and turned around, reading to voice his complaint.

"Bend over the bed," America commanded him. England didn't like to be told what to do, but he was a little desperate for it, so he complied. He went to the bed and leaned over it, knees pressed to it's side. America came up behind him and England shivered as large hands traveled up his thighs. The kilt was pulled up, ass exposed to the cool air.

"Spread um baby."

England didn't like the pet name at all, but he spread his legs anyhow, feeling America grope his cheeks a couple times before going over to the night stand and grabbing the lube.

America retook his position behind England. Damn, did the man look good. He would have to get him in a skirt again. Not only was it gorgeous, it was easy to have sex in. America unzipped his pants and pulled them off. Good thing he went commando today.

England groaned as he felt two fingers push into him. He waited, not caring for the preparation. He and America had been having sex for a long time now. He knew that America only did it because he liked fingering him. Soon enough, they were taken out and replaced by what he had been waiting for.

America brought his hand around and took hold of England's cock while he eased his own in. He heard England let out a whine and smirked. That was his Artie, ever so needy. His free hand grabbed hold of England's hip and he gave a few slow thrust before speeding up. He was happy to note that England was pushing back to meet him.

"That's it Arthur." America stared down at their point of connection, watching the way he slide in and out, the kilt almost touching him, but not quite. England gave a harsh groan as America tilted his hips up. His hand worked England over, palming the head, then sliding back down and up again.

It didn't take too long for England to succumb to the pleasure. He pressed his face into the mattress. It smelled like America. With a moan of the American's name, he came into the pumping hand. America bit his lip. England always made the sexiest noises. With a couple more thrusts he came as well, easing up as he drew his orgasm out.

The only sound for a while was their panting, attempting to regain some breath. America pulled out and went to go get a wash cloth. England stayed in the position he was, feeling blissful. But them he remembered he was wearing a kilt. A kilt for Scotland.

_Shit…what if I got come on the kilt?_

England really hoped he didn't, because he didn't have time to wash it or make a new one. America entered the room once again and wiped him down. He looked at England curiously when the man didn't move.

"Um, England, are you okay?"

"Did…the kilt get dirty?"

America flipped England over and looked.

"Nope!"

_Thank God…_

* * *

><p><strong>AN: If I offended you, my goal has been reached (Any Scottish out there? I love you!)This wasn't going to be smut, but halfway through I said "Fuck it, might as well be!"Fasted story I ever made because I'm tired as hell. Hoped you enjoyed at least a little bit~ For Summer Camp on LJ *sigh* :)  
><strong>


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